I wrote this a while ago and then forgot about it.
Every moment is just that - a moment.
We step from moment, to moment.
Minute to minute, hour to hour,
Onwards and onwards.
Because we can't go back;
We can only go on, until we stop.
And, if I'm honest
Brief snippets of time are enough.
Any more would be too much.
Too much of the picture might be revealed.
A jigsaw with crucial pieces missing,
A photo taken with the wrong filter.
No soft light in the sky,
No whispering breeze wafting the grass.
No smiling sun warming the land.
A watercolour landscape washed with grey.
With absence.
No-one to turn to, no-one to listen.
Not no-one though, just that one,
The one who cared, the one with whom I shared
Achivements, disasters, snippets of my day.
The one who cared, supported and encouraged
And was always there.
The one whose love I always knew, always felt.
The fulcrum of the family,
The central point around which we all revolved,
Whether she realised it or not.
The most unassuming of people,
Who believed she had nothing much to offer.
Yet she leaves behind more than she could ever know.
Every time I cook, I hear her guidance,
It's there in all the crafts I do,
Whenever I play the piano, her influence is there.
Ok, not so much with maths or computing.
And yet… I smile when I recall
Explaining her email to her once more.
So it seems she's in there, too.
Just a memory, though.
A collection of thoughts, photos round the room,
For she is gone.